Her mother did an impromptu pirouette. “Is it him?” she trilled.
Again, it was a number that Sonja didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t the same number from before—the one Macklin had called her from.
“I don’t know.” She picked up the call. “Hello?”
“Sonja?” the gruff voice on the other line asked.
“Yes, speaking,” she verified, curious as to who was on the line.
Her mom puffed up, eagerly clasping her hands at her waist.
“It’s Bill Merrill.”
“Hi, Bill. What can I do for you?”
Her mother visibly deflated at hearing Merrill’s name.
“I just wanted to verify with you that it was okay to start work on the diner this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?”
“Isn’t that what we originally discussed?”
“Well, I thought so, but Macklin told me he wanted to go over the details of the contract again before beginning the work.”
“He did? I didn’t tell him to do that,” Bill was puzzled.
It was finally all coming together. “I think I know what happened,” Sonja grinned, blushing just a bit.
“I’ll talk to him,” Merrill offered.
“No, no, don’t worry about it. I think it was just a ploy to get me to go out on a date with him.”
Merrill paused a moment, then laughed. “That sly dog. I shoulda known, the way he’s been checking you out.”
“So you’re good to start work tonight then?” Sonja wanted to end the embarrassing conversation about Macklin, and stay away from the topic of romance all together.
“Yep, as soon as I finish up some paperwork I’ll head out to the diner and get to work.”
“Great,” she enthused. “I’ll see you there.”
CHAPTER 9
Sonja expected Merrill to be at the diner when she arrived at work that evening, but she didn’t see him, nor his work truck, anywhere on the premises. After it became evident that he hadn’t shown up yet, she figured that he must have gotten caught up in paperwork or was perhaps delayed at another local job, and assumed he would arrive sometime during the evening hours. Dusk was a cooler time for him to work outside anyway.
Forgetting all about Merrill in the dinner rush, Sonja threw herself into her work with gusto. The busy time passed quickly, without a hitch. Orders continually flowed in, with Sonja plating them up and sending them out. Vic worked the grill along with Alex, and she enjoyed watching father and son work together. They seemed more like best friends rather than parent and child, and a part of her envied them.
Her relationship with her father was basically non-existent. Both times when he left, he hadn’t bothered leaving behind a phone number, e-mail address, or any other contact information, telling his daughter simply that he had a new life to lead, and leaving her feeling that she held no part in it. She often wondered what had happened to all the good memories they had together, finding it odd that she could both love and despise someone at the same time.
Sonja’s mother, on the other hand, had become more like a child since her father had left. For the first few months, her mother had gone into a state of shock, living off chocolate, ice cream, and caffeinated soda while watching television. Luckily, though young and bewildered herself, Sonja had been around to give her the support she needed—but it wore on her greatly. She spent many sleepless nights listening to her mother cry in the next room and many long days staying home just to keep her company.
Eventually, Sonja felt her mother was healthy enough emotionally, that she could leave her for a while and pursue her own dreams. That was when the aspiring writer had taken off for New York to chase after a career in writing and publishing. Her mother had been lonely, calling every night, and when things in New York didn’t turn out quite the way that she had hoped, Sonja returned to live in her mother’s guest cottage in Haunted Falls, with no immediate plans to go anywhere else. While it hadn’t been her dream, things could certainly be a lot worse. She now owned a diner, which she loved, and daily she worked side by side with her best friend, Alison, and her family.
In the end, being close to her mom was a blessing. That was one thing that had become crystal clear while living away in New York—family was the most important thing in her life.
“Cristo on a Grid,” one of the waitresses called.
Sonja took the slip and quickly got to work. Even during the dinner rush many customers wanted breakfast food or at least some sort of waffle-themed item with their meal. The Cristo on a Grid was a Monte Cristo sandwich made with two mini-waffles rather than bread. The waffle batter that Sonja used for sandwiches was slightly more savory than the normal morning breakfast waffles, making them a more suitable substitute for the bread.
Pouring the batter into the hot waffle irons Sonja let them cook while she gathered the other necessary ingredients: sliced ham and turkey, Swiss cheese, homemade raspberry jam, eggs, pastry flour, and powdered sugar. She went to work, cracking an egg into a small bowl and beating it, then adding a dash of milk, and a pinch of cinnamon, she whipped the ingredients together until fluffy. Lastly, she sprinkled in a bit of the pastry flour to thicken the mixture.
The indicator bells on the irons dinged simultaneously, and Sonja pulled out the mini waffles, setting them on a plate. She lightly buttered the inside and then added a thin layer of the raspberry jam, layering the ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese on top of the sweet, richly colored jam.
Placing the second waffle on top of the sandwich, she used a brush to lightly coat the outside with the egg mixture, after which, she placed the decadent creation on the grill to brown it to perfection. Plating the sweet and savory sandwich, she topped it off with a sprinkle of powdered sugar, added a small dish of raspberry jam on the side for dipping, and put the order up in the serving window, ringing the bell.
“Cristo on a Grid,” she called out.
* * *
When closing time finally rolled around, and there had still been no sign of Merrill, Sonja began to get a bit worried. She had brushed off his earlier absence by rationalizing that he had just gotten caught up in other work or had simply forgotten that he was supposed to come out to the diner, but now she was beginning to doubt both of those explanations, causing a tendril of fear to unfurl in her gut.
Hurrying along with her closing duties, she helped Vic and Alex clean out the oil trap on the grill so they could get home to their families. When all of the tasks were completed and she had finally locked up, Sonja headed for the back door and stepped out into the cool mountain air. The sky was pitch black, with no stars, and the clouds completely obscured the moon. A gust of wind swirled about her as she stepped away from the shelter of the building, sending a chill up and down her spine.
Turning away from the wind, she glanced into the thick grove of trees behind the diner. The dim yellow light on the back of the building provided just enough illumination for Sonja to make out a large shape in front of the trees. Narrowing her eyes to try to get a better look, she realized that what she was seeing was the dark outline of a pickup truck. Instantly she thought of the mysterious black truck from the morning before, the one that had been driven quickly away after its driver dropped off the threatening letter.
Instinct told her to run, get in her car, and just head home. She could call Sheriff Thompson and report the truck’s presence later, from the safety of her room. But, as usual, her burning curiosity defeated the instinctual warning, and silenced the sensible voice of Sheriff Thompson in her mind, warning her to be extra careful. She had to check the truck first before making any calls. If it turned out to be nothing, she didn’t want to bother Sheriff Thompson with an unwarranted suspicion.
Reaching into her purse Sonja pulled out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight app. The light from the device flooded the area in front of her, and she let out a sigh of relief. The truck, once it was no longer concealed in the shadows, wasn’t black at all, it actually had a green and
yellow pattern.
A sudden realization filled the now trembling diner owner with dread. Hoping against hope that her hunch was wrong, Sonja moved across the dirt lot toward the trees, holding her light up high. The green and yellow paint grew more vibrant the closer she got, and without realizing, she let out an audible gasp. Her suspicions were correct, the truck had Merrill and Macklin’s Landscapes and More printed on the door. The bed of the truck was filled with gardening tools and supplies, but the cab of the truck was empty. Where was Bill?
Sonja felt her stomach churn alarmingly, tasting bile, as the unoccupied truck roared to life of its own accord. Heart racing with adrenaline and fear, she leapt back from it, half expecting the vehicle to run her over, but the truck didn’t move.
“Bill?” She called over the rumbling growl of the engine.
The row of floodlights, mounted on top of the cab, burst to life with a blinding flash. Sonja turned away from the glare, shielding her eyes. She blinked once, then twice, willing her eyes adjust. When she looked up again, finally able to see a bit, the scared owner noticed that the truck’s lights were illuminating a large plot of earth, seemingly freshly tilled, right next to the diner. Moving slowly down towards the pile, she spotted something sticking up from the earth.
Sonja glanced back up at the truck. The apparently supernatural vehicle revved its engine, growling at her to continue forward. The truck, or whatever ghostly power that was controlling the truck, was trying to show her something. Too afraid to refuse to do what the seemingly possessed vehicle was urging, she made her way carefully down the dirt incline toward the diner, toward whatever was sticking out of the dirt, glancing over her shoulder furtively, to make certain that the truck wasn’t bearing down on her.
As she got closer to the building, the blood drained from her face, and a wave of nausea washed over her. There, sticking out of the freshly tilled dirt, was a pale human hand.
CHAPTER 10
In a matter of minutes after Sonja placed a distraught call, Sheriff Thompson and his two deputies arrived on the scene. They pulled up in the only two squad cars that the small town police department had, and quickly approached the shivering, pale and stunned young woman who sat on the front steps of her own diner.
“Sonja?” Sheriff Thompson called. “Where is he?”
Leaning down, he gently touched her on the shoulder.
“I-I think it’s Bill Merrill,” she muttered, shakily pointing to where she had seen the pale hand poking out of the ground. The pickup truck was still running, its lights still on.
“Over there, boys,” Sheriff Thompson ordered, inclining his head. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked Sonja.
Despite her wan appearance, she nodded.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have a look,” he assured her, in an official, matter-of-fact way.
Paramedics arrived a short time later, and the deputies cordoned off the crime scene with yellow caution tape. One of the paramedics gave Sonja a blanket and checked her for symptoms of shock while the others searched for clues in the area, awaiting the arrival of a forensics team and the coroner. It seemed like forever until the body could be taken from the ground and transported to the county morgue for an autopsy, and when the body bag had been zipped, and the corpse spirited away in the coroner’s hearse, the sheriff walked over to where Sonja sat, huddled under a blanket.
“Sonja, I…” Sheriff Thompson began.
She shakily got to her feet and walked toward him. “Is it Bill?” she asked, tearfully.
“I’m afraid so,” he nodded.
“Look,” the sheriff placed a hand on her shoulder. “I want you to head home and get some rest. I’ll take care of things here.”
“Okay,” she mumbled numbly.
“Also, you won’t be able to hold regular business hours tomorrow, or even possibly the next day depending on how things proceed. Do you understand?”
Sonja nodded, watching the hearse pull away, and knowing that a dear man was inside.
“I don’t feel very good,” she murmured, swaying a bit.
The officer quickly put his arm around her and guided her to the squad car. “I’ll have one of the deputies take you home,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “We’ll get your statement in the morning.”
* * *
That night, Sonja left the guest cottage, choosing instead to sleep in her mother’s house, in her childhood bedroom. Her sleep was restless and filled with nightmares. This time, as she made her way through the fog shrouded woods, she found an open grave—but no gravedigger. She nervously peered over the edge into the hole in the earth. Bill Merrill lay there, his pale and sunken face cold and lifeless. The dead man’s eyes stared at her, and when the body sat up from its shallow grave and grabbed her by the ankle, Sonja screamed herself awake, covered in a sheen of icy sweat.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. “Honey?”
“I’m alright, Mom.”
Her mother paused. “Well, let me know if you need anything.” The sound of footsteps shuffled back down the hall.
The nightmares were getting out of hand, and it was becoming harder and harder to sleep. For the first time since her return to Haunted Falls, Sonja questioned the wisdom of staying. While the stalwart sleuth usually had an iron will, and a strong constitution, she’d never seen the dead body of someone she knew personally, especially someone she considered a friend, and it haunted her. Slowly, fitfully, exhaustion claimed her and the weary diner owner drifted back to sleep.
* * *
When morning rolled around, the shock of the night before seemed to have worn off a bit, and Sonja felt slightly more stable. Moving slowly down the stairs, she was engulfed by the wonderfully homey smell of warm waffles, sausage, and eggs. Her mother sat at the table waiting for her, with a look of both happiness and concern across her brow. Sonja smiled gratefully, formerly hidden dimples appearing in her cheeks. Apparently, even tough, independent diner owners still need a little mothering every now and again.
When she got to the diner, a small group of people was standing outside, many of them regulars expecting their usual morning breakfast. One of the deputies stood in front of the front door while the other one stood in the cordoned off crime scene, securing the perimeter so that the forensics team could work. Alison, who was scheduled to work in the kitchen that morning, was in the crowd.
“Sonja,” her friend called, waving when she saw her. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been a murder.”
Alison’s jaw dropped. “A murder?”
“Yeah, Bill Merrill. He was found buried by the side of the diner last night.”
“You mean . . . you found him?”
Sonja nodded. “We won’t be open for business today. I should have called you last night.”
Sheriff Thompson drove up, and the eyes of the crowd followed him as he walked over to Sonja.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Ally raised an eyebrow.
“Still shocked, but not nearly as shaken up. I think I’m ready to give my statement now.”
“That’s fine,” he nodded. “But perhaps you should inform your customers that you’re closed for business this morning.”
Sonja nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have made some phone calls or put a sign up or something last night.”
“It’s understandable that you were a bit…preoccupied. I’m going to check in with the deputies, and get a report about what’s happening with the forensics team. We can talk afterwards,” he walked toward the yellow tape.
“Well, he seemed pretty concerned about you,” Alison observed, watching him go.
“Oh,don’t be silly. He’s just doing his job,” Sonja gave her a pointed look.
“I don’t think personally comforting witnesses is part of the job,” she smiled knowingly.
Sonja didn’t have the patience to deal with this right now and instead headed over to stand betwee
n the crowd and the front door.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry, but due to unforeseen circumstances The Waffle will be closed today. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
There were some hushed grumbles and a few whispered complaints, but slowly the crowd began to disperse. Once the hungry and disappointed patrons had gone, she walked over toward the crime scene to peer over the caution tape, into the hole.
The body was gone, but she still had visions of Bill’s pale, lifeless face gazing up from the earth.
“That’s where you found him?” Alison asked in a hushed voice.
Sonja nodded.
“How awful,” she commented, wrapping her arms around her midsection and shaking her head.
Sonja took a deep breath, then nodded, turning toward the deputies on site. “Have you found anything useful?” she asked, her voice tremulous.
Sheriff Thompson knelt near the hole with one of his deputies, examining something that had been found. “I’m sorry, Sonja, but this is a crime scene. I realize you probably feel personally involved, but I suggest you and Ally both go home like the rest of the crowd,” he said gently.
“What about my statement?”
“Well, it seems this may take longer than I expected. When I’m ready for you, I’ll give you a call.”
Scanning the immediate area, desperate to be of some help, Sonja looked for anything she might have missed the night before, and happened to see what looked like a small white object mostly buried in the dirt. “What’s that?” she pointed.
Reaching down with a gloved hand Sheriff Thompson gingerly pulled something free.
“It looks like a bone,” Alison commented, eyes wide.
The officer turned the small white item over in his hand. “Appears to be.”
Sonja gasped as she began to piece clues together, almost as if she were being guided. “Are there any other bones down there?”
“If there is, I’m sure we’ll find them,” the Sheriff assured her.
Sinister Strawberry Waffle: Book 3 in The Diner of the Dead Series Page 6
